


Disengage The Voids That I Can't Bear

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: daredevilkink, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times someone else tried to kill Matt and he stopped them + one time he tried to kill himself and someone else stopped him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disengage The Voids That I Can't Bear

**Author's Note:**

> [Fill for this Daredevil kinkmeme prompt.](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=8360341#cmt8360341) Thanks to Ash for the beta.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

## 1

It was just a mugging.

Or, well, it started out as one. The Daredevil version of Matt Murdock figured this would be an easy fix, something he could get out of the way quickly to concentrate on the real crime in Hell’s Kitchen.

He isn’t quite sure why he finds himself staring at the barrel of a gun pointed at him. Or not quite staring, as it were. Facing. Because he knows precisely where it is, he can smell the gunpowder residue from recent use, can sense the shooter’s hand is steady from ample practice. He can’t actually see it, of course.

The perp’s heartbeat is fast but regular. Not just a petty thug in a panic. Someone not to be underestimated.

Which Matt finally knows now. Shit. He’s slacking. Sloppy. He needs to pay more attention to detail.

“Beat it,” the perp’s voice snarls.

“Can’t do that,” Daredevil replies.

“Well, then I will just have to shoot ya.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

A finger presses on the trigger, and the guy’s heartrate gives a tiny spike. Matt ducks to the side, just enough for the bullet to whiz past him.

While the perp is still processing how his point-blank shot missed its target, Matt’s foot kicks him squarely in the right knee. Precisely aimed with the desired effect.

The guy tumbles to the ground with a moan. Matt kicks the gun away, out of reach, snatches the satchel with the mugger’s loot from his grip.

“Thank you for giving that back. I catch you doing this again, you’ll have more to worry about than a busted kneecap.”

Daredevil doesn’t wait for a response and makes sure the stolen goods find their way back to their owners.

## 2

His fingers are slipping, losing their grip on the concrete ledge.

Rooftops aren’t always the best venue to try and dissuade home invasion thugs from completing their task. This particular one, Daredevil had underestimated. Well, slightly. Enough to be kicked over the edge with his legs dangling uselessly in the air.

It takes him a second at most to map out his options. Up or down?

The thug comes closer, and Matt knows he’s going to go for his exposed fingers. Which are still slipping, so there’s really only one option now.

Before the baseball bat can find its intended target, Matt angles his body to the right. Pushes his feet against the wall to gain some leverage, then twists and lets himself drop.

The balcony below breaks his fall, the air whooshing from his chest in tandem with the not very graceful landing. Bones, muscles and tendons creak under pressure, but his estimates were close enough to escape unscathed.

From the balcony, it’s easy to find the fire escape, and the journey to the bottom is swift. But his mission isn’t over. There’s still a thug with ill intentions to be stopped.

Matt allows himself a few moments to reach out and pinpoint the location of his opponent. Still on the roof. Some people never learn.

This time, Matt is vigilant, has a better plan. The thug goes down in minutes.

Matt allows himself a small smile laced with schadenfreude, but the Catholic in him rescinds it soon thereafter. Another crime prevented. He wonders how many more the night will bring.

## 3

“I had this!”

His voice sounds less like Daredevil and more like Matt Murdock. There’s dread and anger and contempt. Because he fucking _had_ this.

He’s never killed anyone, not intentionally at least, but he’s seen people die. Too many.

The young woman didn’t deserve this, and even though her heart is still beating, he knows she fractured two vertebrae from the fall off the balcony and will probably never walk again. Everything in his heart coils and churns when innocent people get hurt.

The sirens of the ambulance are already approaching. He reaches out with his senses to survey the aftermath he’s left in the wake of his almost-save. There’s three men on the ground in the apartment behind him, unconscious. They’d threatened not only the woman but also him with the knives they wielded. A futile attempt, as they had to find out.

Yet again, not in time to save her. He pulls back from the railing of the balcony and makes his way back to 6A. The mental image of the woman sprawled on the ground below lingers in his head for days.

## 4

They’re on him like prey. And, yeah, he walked right into this one.

Daredevil presses his mouth into a thin line, considering his options. There’s too many of them to take out, even with the billy clubs. They have guns, and they’re good.

He’s on another rooftop—his nightly Hell’s Kitchen home turf. The Hudson is right below. He isn’t sure exactly how far away from the building the water is, but if he takes a run-up, he might just gain enough momentum to make a clean jump. It’s déjà vu—cause he’s been there, done that. That terrible night where he almost got killed by Nobu and Fisk, although that time there was a window between him and this particular escape route.

It’s a split second decision, and he makes it. The shots ring out when he’s already in freefall.

His body hits the water three and a half seconds later. Even with the suit, it hurts like he’s slamming into a stone wall. A groan escapes his lips before the icy liquid envelops him, drowning out everything.

He hates being underwater. Loathes it. It’s always his last option. His _very_ last. Plus, the suit doesn’t do well with being submerged, especially when there’s still 170 pounds of human body in it.

He struggles to fight against gravity and inertia. Hopes that his attackers won’t be fast enough to catch up with him. He briefly lets his head emerge from the water, sucks in a long, sharp breath, and dives.

All he can think for the next few seconds is that the Hudson is really fucking cold in November.

## 5

“You stopped a bank heist?”

Pure incredulity swings in Foggy’s voice.

“I did,” Matt confirms.

“As Matt Murdock, not as Daredevil.”

“Yes, as Matt Murdock. I don’t go out as Daredevil before sundown.” There’s a _duh_ hidden in there somewhere.

“And you happened to just run across a group of bank robbers and single-handedly took them down. As blind lawyer Matt Murdock. And almost got killed in the process.”

“Well, you’re over-dramatizing the whole thing, but, yes, that’s basically what happened.”

“And what did the police have to say about that?”

Matt shrugs. It really wasn’t that big a deal. He wishes Foggy would understand that. He wishes even _more_ he’d never opened his mouth to tell Foggy. But then he might see it in the media or hear it from Brett, and it’d be even worse if Matt hadn’t told Foggy himself.

“What do you think they said? They were glad the perpetrators were caught, and that I inadvertently helped to make that happen.”

“ _Inadvertently_. Yeah. Right. And can I just mention the fact again that you almost got freakin’ killed?”

“Would you just relax, Foggy? It really wasn’t—“

“No, Matt, I won’t just relax. Cause every time something like this happens, I’m _this_ shy of a heart attack. This whole thing, it’s as detrimental to _my_ health as it is to yours. And somehow it’s even worse when it’s Matt Murdock and not Daredevil who narrowly dodges a bullet. _Literally_ dodges a bullet.”

Matt sighs. Are they back to this again? He swallows down the snappy retort he has at the tip of his tongue, tries to make his voice sound calm and composed. “Look. I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened. Almost like a reflex. For all we know, I may have saved more lives than just mine. Please don’t tell me that’s not a good thing.”

Foggy stays quiet for a long moment. Matt can practically hear the angel and the devil fighting on Foggy’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Thanks for reminding me I’m a selfish ass.”

“Foggy. You’re not an ass. I get it. You’re concerned.”

“Concerned is an understatement if there ever was one.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“The last time you said that, you had just narrowly escaped bleeding out after being sliced open by a fucking ninja.”

“And I made it through.”

“Barely.”

“I’m not going to apologize for helping people.”

Foggy draws in a long breath. “Yeah. I know. But this whole self-destructive streak, it just gets to me, okay? I worry about you. A lot.”

“I know that, Foggy. And I truly and honestly appreciate it. More than you know. But I know what I’m doing. And I’m okay.”

“You are. And I’d kick your ass if you weren’t. Unless you’re half dead. But we’re not repeating that. Ever.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not planning to.”

“You better.”

And that’s all they’ll ever discuss where that particular incident is concerned.

## +1

The drop is deep. Dizzying, almost, even to Matt, as he stands at the edge of the roof with the wind whipping against his body.

He tilts forward. Just a little. Not enough to lose his balance.

A wilted, dry laugh escapes his lips. How ironic is it that he’s jumped across these roofs time and time again, and never once thought about losing his life in vertical freefall. An accidental slip of a foot would have been enough.

And now?

Now he’s ready to let it all go. As Daredevil. As Matt Murdock. As both of them rolled into one. Because what does he have left to live for?

It happened three weeks ago. Foggy didn’t turn up for work. Didn’t call. Was nowhere to be found.

The police had searched. Matt and Karen had searched. Daredevil had searched. Every day and night.

People are telling him that chances are extremely slim Foggy is still alive. Translation: He’s dead, you need to accept it and let it go. The police did. Father Lantom did. Even Karen was nudging him in that direction, and he hated her every fucking time she tried.

So this is what letting go looks like, he thinks.

Cause, yeah, it’s his fault. Of course it is. Or rather, Daredevil’s fault. He’s known it would happen eventually. Somewhere deep down, it nagged at him. He just didn’t want to listen. And then it crashed into him like a wrecking ball in full swing, leaving only rubble in its wake.

He lets his head fall back, tilts his chin upward. One last intake of breath. If Foggy is indeed dead, he’ll join his friend soon enough.

He’s gone to confession earlier today. He clings to the hope that there’s a place in Heaven for him somewhere. With Foggy.

It can only be better than this.

Right?

“I’ll see you soon, my friend,” he whispers.

Another gust of wind tousles his hair, and this is his time. This is it, this is—

“Matt?”

The voice is familiar. Karen.

“Matt, what are you doing?”

She sounds insistent. Panicked. Worried. Terrified. Her heartbeat only confirms it.

For a split second, he considers just letting himself slant forward enough to let gravity do the rest. But he doesn’t. And it’s too much effort to figure out why.

She’s coming closer, just a few yards away now. Careful. Hesitant. Afraid she’s going to set off something fatal and dangerous. “Matt. Don’t do this. They found him. They found Foggy.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in. Found Foggy? No. He’s dead. She’s just—

“He’s alive. Barely. Please, Matt, come down from the ledge. He needs you.”

“Foggy?” he croaks, and his voice sounds like it’s scraping across sandpaper.

“Yes. He was held captive. Beaten... and... and tortured. He’s in pretty bad shape, but... they’re saying he’ll make it.”

He doesn’t turn around. She’s just saying that to make him step off the edge. That’s what people do, isn’t it? They make up stories that instill hope to delay the inevitable. Her heartbeat is fluttery, loud, panicky, and he can’t tell anything tangible from it.

“He’s dead, Karen,” he says hollowly.

“No,” she says, her voice vehement. “No, Matt, he’s not. You _have_ to believe me. I can call the hospital right now, they’ll confirm it. Officer Mahoney can confirm it. It’s true.”

He stays silent, teeters on the edge. Leans forward a fraction. It’s still dizzying—the emptiness below him.

“I can’t do this alone,” he mumbles.

He knows he’s said that to her before. He meant it then, and he means it now. And even though she promised him that he wasn’t alone, there’s no not-alone without Foggy. The last three weeks have taught him that.

“Matt, if you jump, Foggy is the one who will be doing this alone. Is that what you want? For your best friend to live with the knowledge that you killed yourself because of him? It would destroy him. Like it destroyed you.”

His brow furrows. No, he doesn’t want that.

“Is that really what you want?” she repeats.

“No,” he whispers. He isn’t sure she can hear it.

“He will need you now more than ever, Matt. Please don’t do this. Please come down from there. _Please_.”

And just like that, a switch is flicked. He isn’t sure what did it.

“Foggy is alive?” he asks.

There’s relief in her voice. “Yes. Like I said, he’s in the hospital.”

“Did you see him?”

“No, there wasn’t time. But I spoke to Claire. She’s with him.”

“Claire?” His voice is a mere murmur.

“If I come closer and hold out my hand, will you take it? Then we’ll go see him together.”

He sucks in a breath, and doesn’t even know why he’s still resisting. His brain has been trying to defy logic for so long.

“Yes,” he finally says.

He can sense her stepping closer, and his hand meets hers in mid-air. She pulls, steadily and firmly, so that he almost tumbles off the ledge and falls into her arms. And then he does when her arms come around him like she will never let go.

“Jesus, Matt,” she whispers into his shoulder. “You scared the crap out of me.”

He just lets his arms hang limply by his sides, his mind reeling, spinning in circles. “Is he really alive?”

She pulls back, her hand finding his cheek. “Yes, you idiot, he is.”

Her heartbeat says it’s not a lie—or at least it suggests that. He lets himself believe it.

“I need to see him.”

“Yes, so do I. Let’s go.”

They do.

+-+-+-+-+


End file.
